


Some Call it Foolishness

by ComeAsYouAre



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crack, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Non-Consensual Tickling, Romance, Snark, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAsYouAre/pseuds/ComeAsYouAre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcurio gets what's coming to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the skyrim Kink Meme
> 
> Prompt: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3603.html?thread=2528275#t2528275  
> Story: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3603.html?thread=9391379#t9391379
> 
> Standard Disclaimers Apply

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather explore, say, a nice tavern?"

The woman closed her eyes and sighed delicately. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She heard, rather than saw, the errant mage crack one his cheeky grins, “Naturally! And the inhabitants usually take less offense to your meddling.”

“Meddling that is typically on _your_ behalf.”

“Mine?” The man’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyebrows were raised in question.

“Your very _existence_ is offensive... and then you open your mouth.”

“Well, _excuse me,_ princess-”

The Dragonborn groaned and shot her fellow Imperial a positively withering look, _“Don’t_ call me that.”

He threw up his hands in a gesture of false supplication, but did nothing to hide his amusement. “Don’t get yourself all in a twist over it, gorgeous. I was simply making an observation!”

She shook her head and resumed picking her way through the mine. “That’s not what I pay you for. And while we’re on the topic, I expect you to keep us from being flanked, or anything else just as unfortunate.”

“With a master of magic at your side, you'll have nothing to fear.”

“Says the apprentice…”

“Hey! We both know I’m far more talented than that!” He pouted.

She did not bother to hide her smirk, “Truly? I could hardly tell through the fog of your impertinence.”

"Admit it! You’d be lost without me!"

The woman stopped and turned to her companion with a smile. “Marcurio?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

* * *

When they’d reached Old Hroldan Inn, the man was _still_ providing unwanted commentary, and the Dragonborn apologized to Eydis for her companion.

“Don’t worry, my boy Skuli can handle him if he gets out of hand.” The innkeeper looked behind her guest, who in turn looked to see what had caught her attention. Neither woman was impressed by what they saw:

Marcurio and Skuli were sizing each other up.

 _“Divines, give me strength…”_ The Imperial muttered as she dropped extra coin on the counter.

“Looking to rent Tiber Septim's room, I take it?"

“I’ve been meaning to since my first visit. I only regret that it will be under these circumstances.” The Dragonborn nodded in the mage’s direction.

The Nord woman chuckled and made preparations for the night. “Will you need food and drink before you turn in?”

“That would be wonderful.”

* * *

"You know what I miss the most right now? Fresh air." Hardly five minutes and the man was at it already.

The woman sighed, “And here I thought you _liked_ the smell of death and destruction.”

“Are you joking? The smell is going to make me lose my last meal."

“Pity. Perhaps I shouldn’t bother buying if you’re simply going to throw away my money.”

“Hag.”

Marcurio immediately regretted it as soon as the word left his mouth. He tensed in preparation for the retribution that was sure to come. But much to his surprise and bewilderment, the Dragonborn burst out laughing, instead.

“That’s not a good sign, is it?” He asked warily.

The woman stopped laughing long enough to respond, “I thought most people considered laughter a good thing.”

“Coming from most people, yes. You’re not most people.” The mage pointed out.

“A fair point.”

“I’m doomed, aren’t I?”

“Only if you don’t tell me what your real problem is, later.” The Dragonborn smiled, which did nothing to sooth his growing unease.

The man was incredulous, _“Now_ you want to sit and discuss this like civilized people?”

“Since you’ve finally cracked and been honest with me: Yes. So, what say you we find this sword and rid Eydis of that ghost?”

Marcurio stared at her a moment, dumbfounded, and the woman revelled in the rare silence. It wouldn’t last.

"Would it be foolish to stop for a while and light a fire?”

“And summon every possible enemy in the vicinity?” She returned quizzically.

“I suppose it _would_ be a bad idea..."

“Quite.”

* * *

There was no “later”, for the ghost had insisted on a bit of training after they’d returned his sword. By the time the ghost had left, it was late morning, and the Dragonborn was in no condition to travel. A fact that her companion wasted no time chiding her for: “That’s what happens when you run off on adventures at all hours of the night.”

“Well, it’s buying you another night in a cozy inn.” She groused as she unceremoniously began stripping off her armour.

“It’s still daytime, you know.” The mage drawled.

The woman sighed as she settled under the covers. “Don’t pretend you’re not exhausted, either. We hardly slept last night before running off. Now stop being an ass and come to bed.”

He laid a hand over his heart in mock surprise, “My, how forward of you! I never knew you cared!”

The Dragonborn propped herself on her side, to look at him. “Marcurio?”

“ ‘Shut up?’ "  he supplied.

She smiled at him before rolling over.

* * *

Skuli had knocked on the door to rouse the travelers for supper. Though she had no plans for the night, the Dragonborn strapped her cuirass over her robes and strapped her sword to her waist. A little caution went a long way, and with a destiny like hers, she had quite a ways to go.

After they had eaten, the Imperial found a seat by the fire to nurse her mead.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to the local pastime.”

She didn’t need to look up to identify the speaker. “It has it’s own appeal.”

Marcurio cocked a brow. “More appeal than making my life difficult?”

She laughed at that. “Considering you practically volunteered? Yes.”

The mage groaned. “My lady, you are seriously abusing my talents.”

“Talents you need to learn to better control in close quarters.” She said dryly.

“It wouldn’t be a problem if you stopped putting me in harm’s way.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Isn’t being in harm’s way a requirement for mercenaries?”.

He couldn’t have been more indignant if he tried. “I am an apprentice wizard, not some common brute!”

“Indeed. And what is an Imperial mage from Cyrodiil doing as a mercenary in Skyrim?” She eyed him carefully over her drink.

“What is Imperial nobility doing as a Nord folk hero?” He returned easily.

They held each other’s gaze for a while before the Dragonborn spoke. “It seems we are both going to be here indefinitely.”

Marcurio scoffed, “I certainly hope not. I plan on completing my training.”

“Not with that attitude, you’re not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need to lighten up, otherwise you’ll never be able to find sufficient employment to buy your way home.”

His face darkened considerably, “It’s not as simple as that.”

“Is it ever?” She stopped to sip her mead, “You may as well make the best of it until you sort things out. Otherwise you’ll kill whatever’s left of you that the bandits don’t.”

He scrutinized her face, “Is that why you’re so uncommonly mean to me?”

“ ‘Mean’? I prefer to call it ‘tough love’." She smirked.

Marcurio rolled his eyes and was about to speak, but was interrupted when she raised her hand to gently touch his side. His reaction was immediate: “What was _that_ for?”

She froze, momentarily stunned by his shocked outrage, and the aspiring wizard’s eyes widened in fear as he saw the Dragonborn process what had just happened. A slow, predatory grin crept across her face as the mage instinctively shielded his sides and backed into a corner.

“You wouldn’t _dare…!”_ The feeble threat washed over the woman as she rose to her feet and advanced on him.

“Someone help…?” He called weakly. Eydis’ eyes sparkled in amusement, and Skuli was sporting a smug grin.

The Dragonborn swigged the last of her mead before setting the empty container on a nearby table. Marcurio watched her profile, and his heart dropped into his stomach at the look she gave him. It was the mysterious, sly, sideways glance and the muted smirk of the court she wore. It was a look that spoke volumes. One that said, very ominously, _I know something that_ you _don’t..._

He had barely begun to summon his magic before she hit him with paralysis.

 _“She’s a mage?!”_ His surprise could not have made itself known on his face, but perhaps something had shown in his eyes, for the Dragonborn smiled wickedly.

She dragged him easily across the floor, and he might have been more indignant if he wasn’t as focused on what was going to happen to him. She tossed a coin purse on the counter “for the damages”, and hauled him onto the bed. He heard her retreat to the far side of the room and close the door.

The woman returned to his helpless form and smiled.

“Now. Where _were_ we…?”


	2. Chapter 2

One would think that after the incident in Old Hroldan, that Marcurio would have cut down on the number of snide comments he made. He did not.

"Do try not to set off any traps, will you?"

The Dragonborn arched a delicate brow. “You’d be wise to take your own advice, mage.”

“As if I’d fall for something so pitifully elementary!” He scoffed.

“I would think your use of sparks falls into that category.”

“The spell is ‘Chain Lightning’, and it is _anything_ but elementary!”

“I think Commander Caius would beg to differ.” She said sardonically.

“That was an accident! The man got in my way!” The man was predictably upset. As was his fellow Imperial’s response:

“Thus proving my point that you need to improve your strategy in close quarters.” The Dragonborn punctuated her rebuke with a poke in his side.

“Hey! That was completely unnecessary!” His hands flew to his sides.

“What is unnecessary,” she managed to poke him again, “is your attitude, my dear.”

“I think you like my attitude just fine!” He challenged.

“And I think you like when I poke you.” She smirked.

Marcurop rolled his eyes, “How professional.”

“Indeed!” She poked him in the side again.

“This is a horrible abuse of my person, and a great disregard of my talents!” He whined.

“And yet here you are, following me into a lair full of warlocks…”

“Utter foolishness.” The mage grumbled.

“You mean the inhabitants or yourself?”

He gave her a withering look, "What some call devotion to the dark arts, I call foolishness."

She was unfazed, “And what of the fools that pursue them?”

“Does it matter, if they get paid?”

The woman gave him a hard look and said nothing.

* * *

She continued to say nothing until she reported her contract completed to a Nord named Farkas.

"Rogue wizards." The warrior frowned. "I've never trusted magic types...”

Marcurio’s eyes shot to his employer, trying to gauge her expression. Nothing.

“Good hunting, sister?” Another warrior came over, but didn't bother to introduce herself.

The Dragonborn smiled, “It’s hardly hunting without a chase.” Now there were _two_ sets of predatory female eyes upon him. Not good.

“Well, you should see Vilkas, then. He’ll have something interesting for you to sink your teeth into.”

“Not today, Aela.” She nodded in his direction, “I found an ‘expert on Nordic history’ he ought to meet.”

“Him?” the Huntress laughed. “I’m sure Vilkas would _love_ to hear what an Imperial mage has to say about his heritage.”

“Quite.”

Marcurio tried to intervene on his own behalf, “Pardon me, lady, but why do I get the impression that you’re about to throw me to the dogs?”

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say.

Aela’s eyes narrowed, Farkas tensed, and the Dragonborn had a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“My! Is the ‘master of the arcane’ afraid of a ‘common warrior’?” She drawled.

“My skill in battle is unmatched, and you know it!”

“I know that your skill with weaponry requires work. You won’t always have enough magicka at your disposal.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Marcurio froze, uncertain if he had just outed her. Most Nords did not take kindly to mages, and if she valued her relationship with these people, this was bound to end badly. But curse it, she had been baiting him!

She surprised him by snorting instead. “Don’t be ridiculous! I take on dragons at _least_ twice a week.”

That wasn’t a real answer, but he choked on his retort when she poked him in the ribs.

“Surely you’ve seen the preparations I make for such things, or have your eyes failed you?”

He fumbled for words. Had her associates realized the nature of her reply? Or did they know and not care? There was nothing on either of the Companions’ faces that he could easily gauge.

Another poke in the side, and Marcurio yelped. The fellow Imperial smirked at him. “Eyes front. That way, you _might_ see what’s coming.”

This time, he didn’t bother calling for help when she assaulted his sides.

He was saved however, by another man’s voice.

“What is this foolishness?”

Aela turned to greet him, “Vilkas! I see you’ve come to watch the show.”

Marcurio made a strangled noise in protest.

“He’s not very good.” Farkas added.

Marcurio collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Harbinger?” Vilkas began warily, “What is the meaning of this?”

Marcurio struggled to regain his bearings, but it was hard to focus. _Harbinger? Did he just call her the…_

“Nothing much. Just hoping you could show a mouthy mage a thing or two about swordsmanship.” The Dragonborn replied brightly.

 _“Another_ one?” The man groaned.

“Oh, come now, brother- I can’t have been that bad!” She chided him.

That surprised the aspiring wizard. _Wait. So they_ did _know?_

Aela laughed, “You say that as though you didn’t give him a sound beating that day, sister.”

“That was fun to watch.” Farkas smiled.

Vilkas glowered at the present company before addressing their leader once more. “Is this necessary? Any one of us seem more than a match for the likes of him.”

He would later blame it on the lack of air, but at the moment, Marcurio simply reacted to the dismissal.

“What, afraid to take me on and test that theory of yours?”

Oh, that was _definitely_ the wrong thing to say…

Vilkas looked at the disheveled Imperial on the floor. “I see why you brought him here, Harbinger. His technique clearly needs work.”

Marcurio gaped in indignation, “But you haven’t even seen…!”

“I don’t need to.” The Nord turned his back on the group and walked away.

Farkas came over and dragged the spellcaster to his feet. “You’d better hurry to the courtyard if you want to make good on your challenge.”

“He’s right, Marcurio. Just remember the rules that Vilkas lays out, or I’ll have to remind you.” The Dragonborn poked him playfully in the ribs by way of demonstration.

“Just so you know, I’m quitting your service for this.” He snapped.

“You hear that, everyone? He’s free and at your disposal!”

“That’s not what I meant!”

She ignored him, “I’ll be wanting my money back.”

“And leave me stranded with no way to leave this place?”

She responded with mock sympathy, “I’m sure you can find work as a mercenary.”

“And compete with the Companions? I think not.” He grumbled.

The Dragonborn cocked an eyebrow in response. “What’s this? Losing your confidence?”

“No,” Marcurio sighed, “Just my health…”

She merely laughed in response.

Her associate Aela shared her amusement. “This should be good.”

* * *

“What was that all about?” He winced. Potions and magicka-based healing took care of most injuries, but they couldn’t completely dispel the aches from receiving them.

The Dragonborn barely looked at him. “What was what all about?”

“Don’t play coy with me, lady! I know you were setting me up!”

She smirked at him over the edge of her bottle. “Please, I can’t take _all_ the credit.”

“Very funny.”

“Indeed. I thought some of your comments were particularly inspired.” She clutched her bottle, struggling to contain her mirth. “Honestly, what sort of man yells _‘Who taught you how to fight?’_ at a Companion?”

Hulda, the proprietress of The Bannered Manner nearly dropped the mug she was bringing Marcurio. “Oh dear! I hope you didn’t suffer too much for that…”

The Dragonborn turned to smile at her companion, “It was nothing that Danica couldn’t deal with.”

“I could have taken care of myself.” Marcurio’s pout was marred somewhat by his pained expression.

The Imperial woman chided, “Not in that state, you couldn’t. You couldn’t have saved a rabbit if you tried!”

“That’s not my specialty!”

“I know, I know… _‘Why settle for just stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive in a gout of arcane fire?’_ “ She dismissed.

The innkeeper paled, “How barbaric!”

“That’s not all I can do!” He protested.

“No, but it’s all you’re questionably good for.” The Dragonborn turned to Hulda, _“Men…”_ She sighed.

Hulda shook her head. “Well, I suppose it has it’s uses. But not here. Just don’t destroy anything in here while you’re at it.”

The mage sighed. “Yes, ma'am...”

The Nord woman tended to her other customers as the Dragonborn prodded him.

“So, Marcurio... is there a reason you don’t know more healing spells?”

“I would think it obvious that my focus was in Destruction and a mix I like to call ‘Self Preservation’.“

“Neither of which include ‘Preservation of Present Company’?” She asked.

“No,” he sighed, “If you’re good enough, it shouldn’t ever come to that.”

The Dragonborn snorted, “I never figured you for a gambling man.”

A lazy, yet calculating voice cut in, “A gambler, eh?”

Marcurio saw his employer’s eye twitch briefly before she sighed and turned to greet the new voice. “ _Sam Guevenne..._ it’s been a while.”

Sam took her hand and kissed it. “Too long, if you ask me.”

Marcurio's skin crawled as he noted how the Breton mage had taken a simple, gentlemanly act and somehow made it lewd. The Dragonborn made an exasperated noise and turned back to him.

“Marcurio, this is Sam. Sam, Marcurio.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand. “So this is the lucky fellow you’ve replaced that Companion of yours with?”

“You mean tall, dark, and brooding? Frankly, I don’t think he suits her lifestyle.” Marcurio quipped.

The Dragonborn sighed and informed her fellow Imperial testily, “His name is Vilkas,” She turned back to look at Sam pointedly, “and he was never ‘mine’ as you suggest.”

“Not one to run with the pack, I see.” The Breton smirked, “Birds of a feather…”

Marcurio was pleased to see her laugh and finally pull her hand free of the other mage. He was not pleased to see the playful shove she gave him. He was even less pleased to hear what she said next:

“You mean Moira and Esmerelda? Gods! I was hoping to forget that…”

“I suppose that has nothing to do with the scolding Ysolda gave you?” Sam leered.

“No thanks to _you.”_ She laughed.

“Bah! Women…” The Breton sighed dramatically, “Always so difficult….”

“I’ll drink to that.” Marcurio muttered.

“Say, you don’t look so good. How about a drinking game? I promise you’ll feel _much_ better…”

The Dragonborn waved him off with a laugh, “Not tonight, Sam.”

“Aww, you’re no fun. Are you ever going to come out and play with your old friend, again?” He said in mock dejection.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you later.” She winked at the Breton. Marcurio _really_ didn’t like that. He liked the other mage’s expression even less…

“Well, I hope you don’t disappoint.” The man leered.

“You forget who you’re dealing with.” She smirked, “I think my past performance was to your liking, no?”

The Breton laughed in response, “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Marcurio was positively sulking by the time she dragged him out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s gotten into you?” The Dragonborn asked.

He’d barely shut the door to Breezehome when she’d accosted him.

“What’s gotten into _me?_ I think the better question is: what’s gotten into _you!”_ He snapped.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Marcurio groaned, “Is this the part where you make me guess?”

She rolled her eyes in response, “No, this is the part where we try to figure out what happened.”

“So what happened?” It was more of a statement on his part, than a question.

“You’re pouting.”

“I am _not_ pouting! Grown men don’t pout!”

She chose to ignore that he _was_ in fact, pouting at this exact moment. “Grown men don’t need chaperones.”

The mage was indignant again. _“I_ need a chaperone? I thought that’s what you hired _me_ for!”

That earned him an odd look. “I was under the impression that you had quit.”

Marcurio practically deflated. “Oh.”

“Yes, _‘Oh.’_ Imagine my confusion when you followed me to the inn.” Her tone was dry, but she was smirking.

He scrambled for an excuse, “I figured you owed me a drink for setting me up.”

“An account balanced out by the fact that I took you to the Temple and took care of any expenses.” She replied evenly.

“That’s only fair, but I don’t think that makes it even.” He muttered.

She put a fist on her hip and made an exasperated noise. “What more could you want? And I _did_ pay for your drink, by the way.”

His face flushed in embarrassment.

The Dragonborn searched his face for a moment, before concern marred her features, “Marcurio, are you ill?”

“No.”

She stared at him a moment longer, before asking carefully, “Marcurio... were you… jealous?”

He spluttered, “What? No!”

“You were, weren’t you? How precious!” She was smiling again. The smile that he knew NOT to like.

“It’s not like that at all!” The mage protested.

“Was it about the conversation, then? Don’t like that I see more women than you?” She guffawed.

His mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but it wasn't helping. All he could manage to say was a lame, “No.”

The Dragonborn was nonplussed. “My, someone took that personally.”

“You’re mean.”

“And you pout a lot.”

“I do _not!”_

“And now we’re back to the lying game.” She sighed and put her other hand on her forehead.

“Says the noble.” He muttered. That comment earned him another look from his fellow Imperial, but he didn’t care what she thought at the moment. “So much for honesty.”

She studied him, head cocked to the side, as she mused aloud, “We never did have that talk.”

“And you think _now_ is a good time?”

The woman sat in the chair closest to the door. “Why not? We’ve got time, no dangerous assignments, no mad requests, and no one who’d dare to bother us in my home.”

The mage stiffened at the last part. This was dangerous territory, and to escape, he’d have to get past her. His shoulders sagged at his temporary defeat. “I guess there’s no escaping this.”

She chuckled as he trudged over to the empty chair by her. “Oh come, now. You speak as though I’d eat you!”

“I don’t know, _Dragon_ born. Are you sure it’s not in your blood?”

“Nonsense! I would do no such thing.” She poured them both water from the pitcher.

“Really? I’d have never have guessed from the way you hound me all the time…” He grumbled as he accepted a mug.

“Well, here’s your chance to _hound_ me for some answers.” She leaned back in her chair and waited.

He stopped for a moment, considering. She probably wouldn’t tell him anything personal, but if he asked carefully, he might learn more about her than she would him.

“Why are you always referring to me as ‘mage’?”

“You wonder why I don’t consider myself one?” She returned.

He made a face rather than respond.

The woman sighed. “When I refer to practitioners as such, I mean nothing by it. Most of the time, anyway. The reason I don’t consider myself one of you, is that my abilities are limited. I’d have to devote serious time and study to it before being comfortable with the title.”

“And that has nothing to do with how Nords react to mages?” He challenged.

She rolled her eyes. “No one who matters will care, and those who do can be won over. The rest can go to Oblivion.”

“And what if the ones who care are important?” He pressed.

“Dragonborn, remember?” She smirked, “They’ll have to put up with it or make do without my help.”

Marcurio found himself smirking as well, “And we all know how no one can seem to make do without you.”

She groaned and leaned forward to lean on the table. “Tell me about it.”

The mage smirked. She caught the look and interjected quickly, “On second thought, _don’t.”_

He sighed, “I guess it’s your turn to ask me something.”

“No need to look so worried! It’s just a simple question!”

“Lady, _nothing_ is simple with you.”

“Behave, or I will poke you.” Her eyes narrowed at him.

“How unladylike! What would your mother-” He stopped when he saw her lean over the table to get to him. “-Okay, okay! Just ask your stupid question!”

She retracted her hand but did not lean back in her chair. “Why do you use ‘Sparks’ so much?”

“It’s _‘Chain Lightning’!”_

She waved her hand dismissively, “I will call it that when you can use it properly.”

“I can use it properly!”

“Really? Because I know plenty of people who would disagree.”

“Well, I know plenty of people who didn’t.” He grinned suggestively. He was gratified at how her eyes widened at the insinuation. “Care to try it sometime?”

The Imperial leaned back this time, “No thank you. I already have, and I did _not_ appreciate it.”

“Maybe that idiot didn’t know what he was doing.” He smirked.

“That idiot was _you,_ and that was in _combat_ , so _yes…_ ‘that idiot’ did NOT know what he was doing.”

He placed a hand over his heart in mock agony, “You wound me!”

“I _will_ if you don’t figure out how to use it properly!”

Marcurio smiled at her annoyance. “My turn!”

The Dragonborn crossed her arms. “You didn’t answer my question. But since I don’t expect a real answer, by all means, ask away.”

“Now who’s pouting!”

“Just ask your question.” She groused.

“Why did you leave?”

Her eyes bore into his, but he did not respond. “I think you know better than to expect a real answer to that, just as I know not to expect one from you.”

He didn’t flinch. “Do you miss it?”

There was a long silence, and he held his breath waiting for any sort of response.

The Dragonborn leaned back with a heavy sigh and looked into the hearth. Her eyes were unreadable. “Some days, yes.”

Marcurio put down his mug and heaved a sigh of his own. “I suppose neither of us have an easy road home.”

Her eyes found his. “Is it? Still home, I mean?”

He didn’t have an answer for her, and she didn’t expect one. So he played with his mug, turning it this way and that. Inspecting, without real interest, the marks of use all over its polished surface. It was why her next question caught him unawares.

“Why do you hate caves so much? You used to like exploring them at one point.”

He smirked, “I might be more interested if you weren’t always finding ones intent on killing us.”

She looked at him curiously, “You don’t find the relics of the Dwemer fascinating?”

“I would find the Dwemers' mechanical guardians fascinating if they didn't try to kill everything on sight." He said dryly.

“Fair enough.” She chuckled.

“What about you?” He asked. “Why do you like exploring them so much?”

Marcurio did not expect the amount of emotion that came over her before she suppressed it.

“Sorry, I…” He fumbled for an apology, “I didn’t think it was such a personal question...”

The woman waved him off, and he sat there, motionless. The Dragonborn never lost control, not like this. She got angry, frustrated, and sometimes even laughed more than necessary, but this…

“Her name was Katria.”

He stared at the other Imperial.

“I pursued her all over Skyrim, a race to the finish, trying to uncover one of the Dwemer’s greatest, and most elusive, secrets.”

“Did you succeed?” He asked carefully.

“Yes.” She said simply.

“What happened?” He asked her as carefully as he could.

The Dragonborn wore a bitter smile as she looked dully into the fire. “The story was over before it ever began. I simply arrived in time for an encore written in blood.”

Well, _that_ didn’t explain much, but the tone was ominous enough for him to hazard a guess…

“You loved her?”

“I might have.”

Something in his heart constricted, though he couldn’t have explained why.

“I’m sorry.”

A feeble laugh escaped her, “Don’t be. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I’m still sorry.” He insisted softly.

She stared at him again. There was a question there, he saw it in her eyes… But she didn’t ask, and he said nothing.

Eventually, the Dragonborn stood up. “Well, I think it’s time for bed.”

He immediately agreed. “Sounds good to me.”

“You don’t have a room at the inn?”

The mage froze. “Oh. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

She laughed it off. “If you don’t mind sharing tonight, you can stay. But don’t get any ideas.”

He rolled his eyes at that, “Right, because we had the most erotic conversation just now…”

The Dragonborn punched him in jest, and made her way up the stairs. She must have been more tired than she thought, because she stumbled and he had to catch her.

“Well,” He laughed, “that was exciting.”

“My Thane, you’ve returned…”

Marcurio looked up to see a Nord warrior at the top of the stairs. The fall had apparently woken the woman. Her eyes took in the sight of her fallen Thane and she went livid.

“Damn you!” The Nord charged.

“Lydia, wait…!”

Marcurio’s world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Pain. It was receding to a dull ache, but it was the first thing he noticed as he came to his senses. There were furs, and the room was dark, save for the light emanating from surprisingly gentle hands.

"Was that...some sort of healing spell?"

“Stop moving.” The Dragonborn tsked.

The mage was happy to oblige, especially if it made the pain go away.

He’d never had the opportunity to observe her from this close. Necessity demanded many a night huddled together in the cold landscape of Skyrim, but being intent on not freezing to death or getting eaten left little energy for exploration. Besides, it was unprofessional - not that it had stopped him with previous employers - and she was more than likely to kill him if he tried.

But here... here she wore a simple night shift, no layers of armour and padding hiding her form. The bulk of her hair was swept back by a simple ribbon, but it wasn’t strict enough to stop a fair amount from escaping. She leaned over him, inspecting his body and working her magic as she went, and as she moved, he noticed that she didn’t wear trousers to bed. Possibly not even a breast band, if the way her shift hung on her was any indication; it flowed over soft peaks that would have otherwise been pressed flat...

“Marcurio, for shame!”

“What?”

“I hope you didn’t… display your appreciation for Danica’s talents in the same way…” She sighed in exasperation. He didn’t need to look to know he was sporting an erection.

He probably shouldn’t antagonize her, but he grinned and did so anyway, “What, are you jealous?”

The Dragonborn made a disgusted noise and muttered. “Unbelieveable…”

“Sorry, it does that sometimes.” She gave him a look, and he held his hands up in an attempt to placate her. “I’m a man, I can’t help doing that…”

She didn’t look convinced, but she seemed amused as she commented, “I _wondered_ why Danica left you with so many bruises. I thought she was exhausted by your attitude.”

“And I thought you didn’t know anything about restoration magic.”

“When did I ever give you that impression?” She looked at him quizzically.

“Anyone who studies Restoration would know that healing others is not the same as healing yourself. And you criticized my inability to do both.”

“Well, they’re both important.”

“So is your money.” He countered, “If you could have done this yourself, why didn’t you?”

“Maybe I didn’t want a strange man in my bed.” She quipped.

It was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself, “And Vilkas isn’t a strange man?”

 _“That_ is _none_ of your business.” The woman looked positively scandalized.

“Well, Sam certainly was…”

She hit him with a pillow. “No, I did NOT sleep with EITHER of them, so would you just drop it?”

“Did you sleep with Lydia?”

“She’s my _housecarl!”_ That would be _most_ improper!”

“More improper than sharing a bedroll with me?” The rogue Imperial grinned.

“Oh, _you…!”_ The Dragonborn attacked his sides, and he shouted.

A knock on the door.

“My Thane? Is everything alright?”

The Dragonborn didn’t relent in her assault to answer. “Everything is fine, Lydia! I’m just teaching an impertinent mage a lesson!”

“Oh… As you wish, my Thane.”

“No! Wait…!” Marcurio’s cries went unanswered.

Well, enough was enough, and the mage fought back. He struggled and reached for the Dragonborn’s sides, and found… practically no response.

“You’re _not ticklish?!”_

She merely laughed at the horror in his voice.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh that’s just not _fair…!”_

She cackled with glee as her fingers made their way up and down his sides, across his stomach, the undersides of his arms, his neck…

Somehow, he managed to seize her wrists. It would not be enough. The Dragonborn cried out in mock outrage and struggled to free herself from his grip. It was with no small amount of pleasure that he found that he was strong enough to hold on to her. Barely. And maybe being the tiniest bit bigger than her gave him enough leverage. Maybe. He still didn’t care to take on the woman in an even match. Eventually he tipped her over and managed to pin her to the bed beneath him. It a was a tenuous victory, and he tried to get as much air into his lungs as possible before she tried anything. And he made absolutely sure to keep her hands pinned above her head, right where he could see them.

When he looked at her, he was shocked to see the flush in her cheeks as she gasped for air. And there was something dark in her eyes that made him swallow.

“Marcurio…” His name was a shaky whisper on her lips.

He didn’t question it right then. All he knew was that he needed to kiss her, right then, right there. Couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He captured her lips and found them to be soft, pliant, and willing. He drew his tongue across her bottom lip before he nipped it, and her faint moan caused him to involuntarily press into her.

A wicked thought crept into his mind and he froze.

He needed to stop before he got carried away.

He broke the kiss to raise pull his head back, but had to raise himself further when she tried to lean into him. Wide eyes stared up into his own, confusion mixed in with her desire.

“I thought you liked women.” He said dumbly.

“I do.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Then why are we doing this?”

“Because I want to.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Because I like you, you idiot.”

He stared at her. “You like me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

A lopsided grin started to creep its way onto his face, “Well, I’m not sure if I like _you.”_

“Really? Then what’s happening down there?” Her eyes flicked downwards.

“That’s a trap.”

That startled a laugh out of her, “A _what?”_

“You heard me. What am I always telling you? _‘Be sure to keep an eye out for traps.’_ And now look at you.”

“Oh you _insufferable…!”_

She struggled some more but he cut her off with another kiss. He didn’t relent until she gave in, whimpering. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Are you going to behave?”

“Give me a reason to.” She laughed breathlessly.

“I’m going to show you an alternate use for Sparks.”

He felt her tense.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He kissed her shoulder. “You’re about to find out.”

“Marcurio…” she spoke his name in warning.

“What? You’re always saying I need to work on my spellcraft-

“-In close quarters?” She laughed, “Well, I never meant it quite like this.”

“Is that a yes?” He prodded.

“... I better not regret this.”

“Oh, I _promise…”_

* * *

Lydia sat in the Bannered Mare drinking.

“What’s this? A beautiful woman like you, drinking all alone on a night like this?”

The woman turned to see a Breton conjurer in a black robe.

“I’m just taking a break. I’ll head back home when I’m ready.” She turned back to her mead.

“Any reason you can’t drink there?” He smirked.

“That’s none of your business.” The warrior said evenly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He smiled.

Lydia watched the Breton leer at some unseen image, and toasted no one in particular, “Here’s to you, you crazy kids.” He then downed his drink and slammed his mug on the counter.

“So,” he began, “You and I have some time to kill… How about a drinking game…?”


End file.
